


It's All Coming Back To Me Now

by narcissablaxk



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, First Kiss, M/M, Oswald helps Jim capture Ed, gobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: After Harvey insists that he's in a rut, Jim takes a bank robbery case, and needs Oswald's help to catch the perpetrator. Oswald is only too happy to help an old friend.





	It's All Coming Back To Me Now

In becoming captain of the GCPD, Jim Gordon found it was far easier to delegate tasks to his detectives than to do everything himself; as much as he valued his carefully cultivated control over cases he deemed high priority, he always breathed a sigh of relief when he assigned a case to a detective he trusted. It left him open for disaster, for the truly evil cases that could not be solved without his particular hand. 

After the death of Sofia Falcone, the underworld seemed content to lie low; criminal activity didn’t change, of course, and it certainly increased in the first few weeks after the Pax Penguina was abolished, but there were no bombs threatening to release a blood virus, there were no hostage situations with a man in a pig mask. Things were, for once, calm. 

That is, except for the occasional nuisance and headache that was Edward Nygma. His partnership with Lee, as confounding and irritating as it was, kept him from committing anything close to murder, but that didn’t stop him from robbing the occasional bank, or blackmailing the rare one percenter. Whatever Nygma and Lee were bankrolling was wildly expensive, but as long as he hadn’t murdered anyone, Jim was content to let someone else handle it. Nygma annoyed him like no one else could. 

He glanced up at the sound of a knock, and Bullock was sidling in, amusement and exasperation playing equally over his scruffy face. “Nygma hit another bank,” he announced. 

“Give it to Alvarez,” Jim said easily. 

“That’s five in a week,” Bullock pointed out. 

Jim shrugged. “So Alvarez should have fun with it.” 

He watched Bullock shift on his feet and prepare for a speech that would inevitably have Jim sighing and taking the case reluctantly. Luckily, he was cut short by the phone on Jim’s desk. He raised one finger to Bullock, a silent ‘just a moment,’ and picked up the phone. 

The conversation took less than a minute, if Bullock’s smirk was any indication. 

“The commissioner just ordered you to take the case, didn’t he?” he asked knowingly as Jim dropped his head into his hands. 

He groaned, long enough that it morphed into a growl, and stood up, clipping his gun and badge to his belt. “Fine,” he said to no one in particular. “What do we got?” 

“You’ll never believe who we caught at the crime scene,” Bullock graced him with a Cheshire grin. 

***

It had been months since Jim had seen the man he now studiously only referred to as the Penguin. Their chasm of discontent during his reign as the King of Gotham had only made their tenuous friendship (if one could even call it that) more difficult to maintain. So when he stepped into his club, the Iceberg Lounge, the décor was completely new to him. 

“GCPD to see you, boss,” Victor Zsasz announced from his place near the bar. Oswald, it seemed, was just out of sight, because it wasn’t long before Jim could hear the clink of his cane on the marble. 

“I see even the incomparable Jim Gordon is not above ridicule,” Oswald’s voice was all righteous indignation, but Jim was used to it. In fact, he was loathe to admit it, but he missed that very predictable offended voice, just shy of a snobby sniff. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, his hands finding their usual places on his hips. “I came here to talk to you, because it seems you are a witness to a crime instead of the perpetrator.” 

“Try to control your surprise,” he really did sniff this time, turning to the bar and pouring himself a drink. 

“It’s 10 in the morning.” 

“You’re already giving me a headache,” Oswald bit back, turning back to him with the tumbler in his delicate fingers. “Now, are you here for an apology?” 

Jim cocked his head like a puppy, as if he’d heard wrong. “An apology?” he repeated. 

Oswald blinked, haughty and condescending. “For locking me in Arkham for a murder I didn’t commit?” 

Ahh, so that was it. Admittedly, Penguin probably did deserve an apology for that, especially since the boy had been found completely unharmed. But as usual, Jim couldn’t bring the apology to his lips, not when it would require conceding that he had been wrong. 

“I’m not here for that,” he tried anyway, but the moment the words left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong choice. Oswald pursed his lips, raked his eyes over Jim like he was a disgusting piece of garbage on the street, and turned away. 

“Then you can go.” 

***

“Why don’t you just bring him in for questioning?” Bullock prodded, forcing Jim to put his pen down and stop filling out paperwork for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. “Haul his little ass in here and make him talk.” 

Jim shook his head. “That doesn’t work with Penguin and you know it.” 

Bullock leaned back in the chair and kicked his booted feet up onto Jim’s desk. “But come on, roughing him up a little bit will make you feel better.” 

“Who said I feel bad?” Jim was only half paying attention now, his eyes running over the same sentence on his report for what felt like the millionth time. 

“You hardly go into the field anymore, you haven’t solved a case in at least three weeks –”

“It’s called delegating, Bullock.” 

“Come on, you’re a cop,” Bullock exclaimed, yanking his boots off the desk, taking a paperweight with him. “A real cop, not a pencil pusher. Get your ass out there and solve a damn case. Guaranteed you’ll feel better.” 

“I never said I felt bad in the first place!” Jim called as Bullock stood and stomped out of the office, leaving his door mercifully open. Jim stared at it, teeth gritted, trying to will it to close. 

Was he really in a rut? He didn’t think he felt bad, but it had been a long time since he solved a case himself. Perhaps he did need to get back into the field, see if it made him feel better. He sighed and grabbed his coat. 

***

“Jim Gordon to see you, boss,” Victor was in the same place he had been before, as if he hadn’t moved. 

“Twice in one day, Jim? I’m touched,” Oswald didn’t even bother to turn around. “Since the talking method didn’t work, I’m assuming you’re here for the violent method?” 

Jim wanted to roll his eyes, wanted to oblige him, yank him up by his lapels, flush against his chest, demand answers. And he would get them if he did just that; Oswald could never deny him anything when they were that close. Instead, he shuffled his feet. 

“I’m sorry for locking you in Arkham,” he muttered.

He heard rather than saw Oswald turn around. “What was that?” he asked, limping toward Jim, his drink left behind and forgotten on the bar. 

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Jim argued. 

“Come now, Jim, _don’t tease,_ ” he was standing far too close now; it would be so easy to reach out and grab his jacket, to use force to make him cooperate, but Jim couldn’t do it. He met his gaze unflinchingly, noting the dark circles under his pale eyes. 

“I said,” he ground out quietly, “I’m sorry.” 

“Now was that so hard?” he asked, his breath washing over Jim’s cheek, mingling with his aftershave. Jim clenched his jaw, determined not to be the first person to step away, determined not to show weakness. Oswald surveyed him carefully, as if he could read every traitorous thought in his mind, every fleeting moment where Jim took in the way he smelled, the way his fur coat felt, brushing just so against his sleeved arm, the tantalizing smoothness of the skin of his throat. 

Jim cleared his throat. “Now, can we talk about the bank robbery?” 

***

It wasn’t hard to piece together – Oswald and Ed planned to rob the bank and split the profits, but Ed’s new _obsession_ (Oswald’s word) with Lee had ruined their plan, and Ed had taken all of the money, left with Lee, and locked Oswald and Butch in the vault. 

“I thought you two were friends,” Jim had said cautiously. Oswald didn’t answer him, but looked away, to a place Jim couldn’t follow, and shrugged. 

Jim didn’t need him to answer, truthfully. He knew how Oswald felt about Ed, or how he used to feel. As clever and manipulative as he was, Oswald was terrible at hiding his own feelings. Jim had seen them on his face while they talked, comfortable in Oswald’s private office. Hurt, betrayal, loss, and anger. He was embarrassed that Ed had gotten the better of him, but he was even more embarrassed that he allowed it to happen because he hoped Ed would make a different decision. 

He was familiar with that feeling. 

“If he comes by, call me,” he told him as he was standing up to leave. “If he hasn’t come to gloat –”

“He will,” Oswald agreed. 

“Promise me you’ll call,” Jim dropped his hand to Oswald’s wrist. “Let me lock him up.” 

“It would be so much easier for me to just freeze him again,” Oswald had pointed out, a playful smirk lingering around his mouth. He lowered his gaze to Jim’s hand, still on his wrist. “But for you, _old friend,_ I’ll curb my urge.” 

He dropped his own hand over Jim’s then, and he could still feel the burning of Oswald’s thumb, rubbing a soothing circle into the soft flesh of his hand. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way; time seemed to slow down or move incredibly fast, he couldn’t tell if they lingered for far too long or if he jerked his hand away. 

Either way, the sensation lingered. 

***

Jim’s prediction had been, as usual, correct. It was only a day before Ed sauntered into the mansion, his green suit as garish as Oswald remembered, his bowler hat fixed on his head. He looked smug, like he had taken Oswald by surprise. 

“Oswald.” 

“What do you want, Ed?” he asked with a sigh. “Don’t you have banks to rob?” 

Ed smirked. “Of course. But I’ll get to those.” He stepped further into the room, his eyes lingering on the paintings on the wall, the new upholstery on the couch. Oswald allowed him to observe without interrupting.

“Things certainly have changed since the last time you were here,” Oswald pointed out when the silence had gone on too long. 

“How did you get out of the vault? I imagined the GCPD would have switched you from one cage to another by now.” 

Oswald remained seated, and took a sip of his red wine. “You see, Ed, that’s how I know you’re not all Riddler. You should know, in your big, defrosted brain, that since you took all of the money in the vault, I technically didn’t steal anything.” He set the wine glass down, his finger tracing the edge of it. “I suppose I should be thanking you.” 

“Thank me?” Ed repeated. “For what?” 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Oswald answered sweetly. “Tell me, since you’re so smart: what can be swallowed, but will also swallow you?” 

_“Boss,”_ Victor, by the window, gave him a single nod. 

“Pride,” Ed answered easily as a heavy knock rang through the mansion. 

_“GCPD!”_

Ed’s eyes were on Oswald a moment later. “You _didn’t. _”__

__Oswald toasted with his almost empty glass as the door clanged open. “Oh, didn't I? Enjoy your new cage, Ed. Don’t worry, I’ll let Lee know not to expect you tonight.”_ _

__“Edward Nygma, you’re under arrest,” Jim’s voice was all authority, and Oswald gave him a wink that made him stutter over the reading of Ed’s rights._ _

__“Oh, Jim, my knight in shining armor,” Oswald placed a hand over his heart in mock relief. Jim gave him an eyeroll that felt more affectionate than annoyed as he yanked Ed up by the handcuffs._ _

__“Oswald Cobblepot, Gotham thanks you,” he replied, stoic and serious, but there was a smile playing around his lips, and Oswald unabashedly returned it._ _

__***_ _

__Jim returned that night, sans his jacket, looking haggard but pleased. Victor admitted him without hesitation, letting him know that Oswald was waiting for him in his office. He wasn’t sure why he came back; he and Oswald could go back to where they were before this, not quite friends who helped each other out sometimes; they could see each other maybe once every six months until their contact petered out altogether._ _

__They could go back to being the King of Gotham and the Captain of the GCPD._ _

__Despite those thoughts, Jim didn’t even pause in his journey to Oswald’s office, didn’t hesitate when the man offered him a drink, and didn’t even bother to hide the grin when Oswald told him how satisfied he was with Nygma behind bars._ _

__“I couldn’t have done it without you,” the words slip out before he can stop them, and Oswald gives him the warmest smile he’s seen in a long time. It fills him up, much like the way he feels when he stands in the sunlight in early spring._ _

__“It’s nice to feel appreciated,” Oswald admitted, taking a sheepish sip of his drink. He set the glass down and crossed around to the front of the desk, leaning on the edge, though whether that was for his leg or because he was just that comfortable in Jim’s presence, he didn’t know._ _

__“I really am sorry,” Jim said, his eyes on his almost untouched drink. “For sending you to Arkham.”_ _

__“The evidence was not on my side,” Oswald shrugged, and Jim could tell that he was just giving him an out for his pride._ _

__“I should have known better,” Jim argued, lurching to his feet. “I knew Sofia was manipulating everyone; I should have known you well enough to know you would never blow up an innocent child.”_ _

__“You should have,” Oswald agreed. “But I don’t hold it against you. Sofia tricked us all.”_ _

__“You should hold it against me,” Jim insisted. “You should.”_ _

__Oswald’s hand caught Jim’s wrist, and he took an easy step closer, into his orbit. There was that easy closeness again, the temptation to relish in it. Oswald still had hold of his wrist, his fingers cool and soft, demanding nothing._ _

__“I’ve done plenty of bad things,” Oswald admitted. “It was only natural for you to believe the worst of me. It wasn’t your fault.”_ _

__“You’re not nearly as bad as you think you are,” Jim replied, reaching behind Oswald to put his glass on the table, pushing them even closer together._ _

__“Jim –”_ _

__It was barely more than a breath; Jim could practically taste it. He used his free hand that Oswald wasn’t touching to wrap around the other man’s waist and lift him onto the desk, relishing in the startled sound he made. In his surprise, Oswald released Jim’s wrist and Jim was free to place both hands on the top of Oswald’s thighs._ _

__“I thought staying away from you was safer,” he admitted, his eyes on his hands, gentle but firm, on Oswald’s thighs. “I was worried that we would get stuck in this cycle. Favors, blackmail, destruction.”_ _

__“Rinse, repeat,” Oswald finished, his voice a little strangled. “But there’s an easy way to fix that.”_ _

__“How’s that?’_ _

__“Break the cycle,” Oswald prompted, his hands reaching for Jim’s shirt, the nimble fingers curling in the fabric and pulling him closer._ _

__He didn’t know who leaned in first, who really broke the cycle, but before he could stop himself, Jim was pressing closer to Oswald, his hand on his thigh coming to life to grab a fistful of his hair, Oswald’s fingers moving against his shirt buttons, a moan tumbling from his mouth into Jim’s._ _

__Oswald had one button left on Jim’s shirt when he pulled away, the now open shirt held tightly in his hands._ _

__“As much as I’m enjoying this,” he released one side of the shirt to let his fingers trace over Jim’s bare skin, smirking at the shiver it produced. “Perhaps there are better locations to continue.”_ _

__“I think your mansion has plenty of rooms,” Jim answered plaintively, and suddenly, Oswald was kissing him again, buttoning his shirt instead of unbuttoning it, pushing him toward the door._ _

__“Let’s go, then.”_ _


End file.
